Letters From an Anonymous Reality

Letter 7

Dear Kitty,

I need you. I really, really need you. I'm sitting on the edge of a swimming pool again... and there's no one, no one, to hold me back. I need you. I'm worried, and I'm scared, and I can't tell anyone. I need someone to tell me that my brain is lying, that it will be ok, that it's not impossible. 

My brain is lying, at least you would say it is. I'm not so sure it is. It's saying all the same stuff as usual, but there's no way to disprove any of it. I'm alone, right? I mean, what can you even say to that? You're not here, Furry's not here, and I don't have anyone else, like really have them. So, yeah, I'm alone, and that's true. I should just give in and do what I think will help. It helps sometimes, so why shouldn't it help now? The pros outweigh the cons if I follow through, but the cons seem to outweigh the pros if I don't. I'm not sure what to say about this, really, because what can you say when you lay the facts out? It's not a lie either, at least not fully. And on and on it goes, same as always, spiraling, spiraling, spiraling on and on into chaos. 

I guess there is some paranoia that isn't true. It hasn't been true in the past, and it's all theory. A theory can't be proven, only disproven. Well, that's not completely true in this analogy, but it works fairly well. There is nothing to prove that you are in any danger, but I have been unable to disprove that you are. Ok, this is an ineffective analogy, but it's too late to turn back. Furry disproved the idea that he was in complete danger (note that I use the word "complete" because a lot was left unsaid), but he has not proven that he is completely safe. So the paranoid theories run my brain, and my brain runs me, so the paranoid theories are running me. As always. Nothing new, nothing to, as they say, write home about. I just wish I had some more facts, good or bad, just something I could use to solve these puzzles and have definite answers. 

I'm scared. I'm completely and utterly terrified. Of everything. Again. But this is different. This time, I can't check on anyone at all, and it makes me so helpless. I can't expect a response of any kind, not even the simple knowledge that some other human being is present. Nope. The lines of communication have been cut. As always, some grand force has yanked everyone away from me. (I suppose that sounds like I'm blaming God, doesn't it? That's the world's first assumption because God sounds nice, and putting Him in random places seems cool, right? Well, no. I don't believe God has taken my friends. If anyone, it's Satan. Plain and simple. He hates me because I hate him. Good thing God's on my side, or I would be so screwed.) I just wish I could really talk to you right now, even though I know what you would say. I know almost everything you would say.

You would remind me my brain is lying. I don't think it is, but you always say it is, and I know you're not a liar. But now, it's just my brain, so I'm not sure what to make of it. You would tell me to be careful and make wise decisions, but that's so hard to do. I have logic on my side, even if it's a bit twisted. I have justification, and you're not here to talk with me about why it's bad. You're not here to remind me that there are consequences. You're not here to remind me that you're here, and that's worse than anything. 

Are you even real? Did I just imagine you? I don't suspect any real person would care about me and tolerate me. Maybe I just slipped too far in my mind and found you there. Maybe my own mind got sick of my company. Sounds about right. Am I real though? I don't feel very real right now. If I'm not real, you're real, but I'm just some ghost. I'm a puppet of some sort. I don't know what to make of all this. You say you're real... but you're gone. You say I'm real... but I'm not here enough for that to matter, even if you suddenly came back early just to remind me. 

I hope you're safe. Please don't think I'm selfish for writing on and on about me. Please don't think I've forgotten where you are. No, I'm worried about you just as much as anything, if not more. But there's too much there to sort through and type out. Besides, it seems a bit rude to you, like I don't have any faith in your abilities. 

Just come back, please. I need to talk to you, and I need to see you. I need to know you're ok. That's always the theme, isn't it? I just want everyone to be ok, but they all disappear, and I can never know. What torture it is. Don't die. Be careful. Come back soon. I need you. 

-The Girl Who Has No One